‘They know they will get it back, as soon as they take the ship.’
‘They will not take the ship, if you keep a good watch.’ He scratched his chin reflectively. ‘Perhaps it is trade the Rajah wants to discuss. He might have something the Dutch monopoly will not allow him to sell. Or he wishes news of the outside world. Or it might be a sickness – something of that sort. But there can be no harm in finding out.’
‘Unless you come back in four quarters, with your head on a spear!’
‘I do not quarter so easily … Now we have to match his present, if we can. That tusk is the rarest I have ever seen. We have nothing on board of that quality, except jewels, and by the look of it, Makassang has enough jewels already. Did you mark that ruby in the old man’s turban?’
‘I’ll lay I was the first to mark it,’ said Nick Garrett, with a wolfish laugh. ‘I saw it snug in my own jewel box … There has always been talk of a state treasure of Makassang. I remember it now. You should find out what you can, while you are ashore.’
‘I shall not be asleep.’ A movement over the side of the Lucinda D distracted him, and he turned outboard to see what was stirring. He found that it was a small outrigger canoe, of the kind called a cora-cora, with a high prow and (for its size) a vast sail; it had come alongside the barge, but was now turning away again, and gathering speed towards the shore. Brought to the alert, he leant over the bulwarks, and called down to Amin Bulong: ‘What was the business of the cora-cora?’
From under the edge of the canopy, Amin Bulong peered up at him, his face inscrutable. ‘I have sent it ahead, with a message,’ he answered.
‘What message?’
‘That you are coming ashore with me,’ replied Amin Bulong, as if surprised by the question. ‘His Royal Highness would wish to prepare a suitable welcome for you … May I know if you are ready?’
‘Shortly,’ said Richard, and withdrew from the ship’s side again. He caught Nick Garrett’s glance, sardonic and questioning, but he did not answer it. Whatever welcome was being prepared ashore, it was his own problem. Instead he said: ‘Tell those three men they are coming with me.’ Then he turned, and strode below.
Down in his cabin, which was hot and airless in the morning heat, he considered the matter of a present for the Rajah. He had nothing of a value to match the elephant tusk; his offering must be something of a different sort, something unusual enough to make up for its lack of intrinsic worth. He looked about him swiftly. There were a few books, and those not worth considering. There was his sextant, which he could not part with. There was money, and jewellery, and a chest of opium, but these were poor currency with which to honour a rich man. There were guns of various kinds, but (as far as weapons were concerned) he had never yet given away as much as a Scotsman’s dirk, and this was not the moment to start such largesse.
Then his eye fell on what he was looking for. It was a musical box, won long ago in some gaming house on the Bristol waterfront; it had been gathering dust in his cabin for more than two years. It was a pretty, decorative thing, of walnut inlaid with yellow-wood; when wound up, its revolving drum played English and Scottish airs, with a curious tinkling purity. This would serve, as well as anything … He pulled the lever and the mechanism, nearly run down, played a few slow phrases in elegant waltz-time before coming to rest. As the notes subsided, with gentle harmonious echoes, John Keston knocked on his cabin door, and forthwith entered.
Richard, momentarily foolish, pointed to the musical box and said: ‘I am taking this ashore, as a present.’
Keston, nodding, said: ‘I will dust it, and wrap it in a cloth.’ Busy at this task, with his back turned, he continued: ‘This is some great Rajah ashore?’
‘Aye, so they say. Did you see the elephant tusk? He must be a rich man, to give such presents.’
‘Rich men keep great state,’ said John Keston. ‘Have you thought of that?’
‘How do you mean?’
Keston turned, and gestured. ‘Sir, you cannot go ashore in those rough clothes, if you are visiting a rajah. It would not be seemly.’
‘What do the clothes matter?’ asked Richard scornfully. ‘I am paying a call, and bringing a present. I am captain of my own ship, not a tailor’s dummy! What difference does it make, what I wear?’
‘You are visiting a rajah,’ repeated John Keston. ‘You should dress for the occasion.’
‘What dress is this, then?’
‘The Dutch admiral’s uniform.’
Richard considered, not without amusement. He had indeed no ceremonial clothes of any sort, save a naval uniform looted from a Dutch East Indiaman which he and some others had captured, a year earlier in the Celebes Straits. The uniform was a truly glorious affair, a braided tail coat with much display of gold lace, tasselled epaulettes, and a plumed hat to match; the kind of cockatoo outfit which his brother Miles used to wear on great occasions. John Keston had altered it to fit him, but he had never yet worn it. In fact, he had not dared to.
‘I am not a Dutch admiral,’ he objected. ‘I cannot wear it, on a call like this.’
‘You are visiting a rajah,’ said John Keston, for the third time. ‘He will not know the uniform, except that it is ceremonial.’
‘He will not expect such state.’
‘All the better,’ answered John Keston. ‘You will take him by surprise.’
In some ways, thought Richard presently, it was far more of an ordeal to step on to the deck under the eyes of his crew, arrayed like some blue-and-gold pouter pigeon, than to face anything that lay ahead. The unknown was one thing; he could deal with it as it arose; but the amazed stares of fellow sailors who had scarcely seen him in anything more formal than yellow oilskins and a sou’wester, were real and daunting. He would not have been surprised if they had turned to dancing the maypole round him … There must, however, have been something in his expression which discouraged comment – and he presented, in fact, a most regal figure – for as he strode across the deck, his sword clanking, his plumed hat ruffling in the breeze, no word of any kind escaped the crew of the Lucinda D. One of the Kanakas working at the foot of the mainmast dropped a marlinspike, and then stood staring at him, as if he had seen the Archangel himself. But that was all.
His armed men drew aside as he made for the ladder, forming a respectful lane for his approach. For a moment he stood above the barge, isolated, splendid in his finery; then he called down to Amin Bulong: ‘I am ready!’
The old man, who had been sitting patiently on the gilded bench under the canopy, looked up at him. He was too well-schooled, or too polite, to express surprise at Richard Marriott’s appearance. But there was a gratifying deference in his voice as he said: ‘His Royal Highness will draw great pleasure from this visit … Be pleased to step on board.’
iii
There were special litters designed for the ascent of the Steps of Heaven; they were Chinese palankeens, with a central carrying pole supported by four bearers, save that the pole was set at an angle, high at one end, low at the other, and the litter itself, moving up the steps, was thus held comfortably level. It was a touch of luxury which, like the appointments of the state barge, impressed Richard Marriott as he observed it. But he could not help noticing that the palankeens, like the barge, were old and out of repair – as if they were toys of a rich man who had grown weary of toys, and had not troubled to replace them when they grew shabby. It seemed a clue to what he might find when he confronted the Rajah. There was decay here in Makassang, as well as magnificence.
Their two palankeens were side by side, and the curtains drawn back, as they began the slow ascent. Richard had supposed that the old man might doze off on the journey, since the noonday heat was approaching; but he was sitting up alertly, a slight smile on his face, and when Richard made a chance remark – on the grandeur of the Steps of Heaven, and of the Sun Palace above them – he answered readily enough.
‘Makassang is a rich country,’ he said, ‘though we do not claim undue credit f
or that. We are blessed by nature. And the precepts of the Lord Buddha have prospered us mightily, since the very beginning of our history.’ He turned to look at Richard, peering round the curtains of his palankeen. ‘It is also a strong country, Captain Marriott. It is not for anybody’s taking.’
‘Having seen your bodyguard, I can well believe that … You must be proud of your grandson. Surely it is a great honour in one so young, to be captain of the guard?’
‘He is captain of my guard,’ Amin Bulong corrected him, on an appropriate note of modesty. ‘But there is a Palace Guard – drawn from the Rajah’s own regiment – which of course has pride of place. My own bodyguard is an adjunct of that.’
Adjunct … It was not the first time that Amin Bulong had used a word or a phrase which was curiously prosy; and Richard found himself again wondering where the old man had learned his English. It had something of a missionary ring about it … But it seemed impertinent to put the question to him outright, at this stage; instead, Richard asked: ‘The Rajah – how is he called?’
‘Satsang the Third.’ Amin Bulong peered once more round his curtain, as the palankeens swayed together and then apart. ‘You have not heard his name, Captain?’
‘Unfortunately, no,’ said Richard. ‘I have not been in these waters before.’ He smiled. ‘I mean no discourtesy by what I say now. But the island of Makassang enjoys a reputation for fierceness – even hostility. It is said that you have headhunters on the island.’
Amin Bulong gestured, negligently. ‘We have some few, in the interior. It is an ancient form of piety … But I hope you do not find us hostile.’
‘By no means … The Rajah – has he a son to rule after him?’
A frown came over Amin Bulong’s face. ‘He has not been so blessed,’ he answered, coldly.
His voice, as well as cold, was completely final, as if the subject, once disposed of, could not possibly be broached again. Aware that he had trespassed on some area of delicacy, Richard sought to leave it as soon as he could. This was, in part, a courtesy visit, and it was best to keep it on such a plane. A check in their progress gave him his opportunity.
They were now halfway up the Steps of Heaven; the façade of the coral palace loomed above them, taking on the dimensions of grandeur; and the palankeens now paused, so that the sweating bearers could be changed. Looking back, Richard could see the bodyguard, halted a few steps below them; then behind them his own trio of attendants, mopping their brows as they caught their breath; then, within the small curve of the bay, the Lucinda D, already dwarfed by the height they had gained; and lastly, far away across the inlet, the dome of the golden pagoda in the full glory of the sunshine. He pointed at this latter, and leant towards Amin Bulong, as their relief bearers bent to shoulder the carrying poles.
‘I observed the dome of the pagoda as soon as I arrived,’ he said. ‘That is in the Rajah’s domain?’
‘Certainly,’ answered Amin Bulong, and his voice was scarcely less cold than at the last question. ‘Everything you see from here is in the Rajah’s domain, and the island stretches far beyond that. Makassang is some two hundred miles long, and as much broad.’
‘And the Rajah rules here, from the south?’
‘He has strong garrisons in many parts of the island.’
‘It is a handsome pagoda,’ said Richard, still seeking to reach some neutral ground. ‘Are there others like it in Makassang?’
‘There are others,’ answered the old man, ‘but it is the principal one. It is a huge place, as you may see if you come to visit it. It is known as the Shwe Dagon – the Golden Pagoda. It is maintained by a priestly caste who call themselves the Anapuri.’
‘The Anapuri,’ said Richard, surprised at a word which, in the course of his wanderings, he had met before. ‘Surely that means “the rulers”, in your tongue?’
‘It means “the rulers”, yes.’
‘How many are there in this caste?’
‘Some ten thousand, I have heard.’
Silence fell between them, as their upward journey continued, and within the swaying palankeens the two men, the young and the old, kept their thoughts private. Amin Bulong seemed to have withdrawn, as if Richard’s questioning, which he had intended to be innocent and polite, had touched some tender nerve. Richard himself was puzzled. There were some curious conflicts here. Priests who called themselves rulers, a rajah who had no son to follow him, a country of forty thousand square miles administered from a mere spike of land (as he had now observed it) on its southern extremity, interior tribes who were headhunters – these things did not add up to any known conception of central authority. Once again – as with the magnificent state barge with the shabby seat cushions, the gilded palankeens screened by frayed, musty curtains – there was evidence of an infection, a whiff of decay. The Rajah of Makassang might call himself paramount, but it was possible that his writ did not run very far beyond the scope of his own gaze. And if, in addition, he were an old man, as seemed likely, and childless …
So Richard’s thoughts ran, as they mounted, laboriously, twenty more of the broad Steps of Heaven, and the Sun Palace drew near. Unexpectedly, it was Amin Bulong who broke the silence, who gave voice to these thoughts which Richard had been content to keep hidden. It seemed that, after reflecting, he had come to some decision, for he leant forward and began to speak with far more freedom than before.
‘You can know very little of our country, Captain Marriott,’ he said, on a note of careful emphasis. ‘That is no shame to you – I know very little of yours … But it will perhaps help you in the future, if I tell you about it in more detail …’ The sun burned down, the palankeens swayed in solemn rhythm, the gecko lizards scurried from their path as they made their slow progress upwards. ‘We were talking of the Shwe Dagon, and the hereditary priests of the Anapuri … They bear that title because, long ago, they used to rule this island. It is possible that they might do so again. The Rajah, as I have said, has no son. Or, I should say, no grandson. His only son was killed in some tribal matter in the north. He has a daughter, the daughter of his old age, but daughters cannot rule in Makassang … I said that Makassang is a strong country, but that is not altogether true. There are divisions, tribal quarrels, which weaken it fatally.’
The old man was speaking now with special care, as though striving to communicate the truth; and if (thought Richard) it were part of some studied presentation, it was not the less convincing for that. ‘The country is split in two factions,’ he went on, with an added note of sadness. ‘There are the Sea-Dyaks, loyal to the Rajah. His royal regiment, and my own troops, are drawn from these. There are the Land-Dyaks, whose allegiance tends more towards the Anapuri, the priests. It is these who still go headhunting, when the mood strikes them … And there are pirate strongholds on our northern coast, to add confusion.’ He smiled, the thin bitter smile of a man confronted with his own weaknesses. ‘You see that we have troubles,’ he concluded. ‘We are strong, and rich. But we are not united. And there may be worse to come.’
‘I have heard of these pirate strongholds,’ said Richard, after waiting for Amin Bulong to explain his last words. ‘Could they not be subdued?’
‘Not from landwards,’ replied Amin Bulong. ‘They have a hundred miles of jungle to protect them. And from the sea – well, it would take more than a fleet of prahus, however well disposed and commanded, to make the journey round the coast in open water, and then capture them by storm. Such an enterprise would need bigger ships altogether.’
They had now reached the top of the Steps of Heaven; the long balustrades had curved together to form a noble flagged plateau, and the palace gardens were in view. These, which had been hidden at sea level, now burst upon the eye in breathtaking profusion. There were green lawns, and splashing fountains, and blooms of every kind native to this part of the world – poincianas, emerald orchids, crimson cannas, and the wild beauties known as flame-of-the-forest.
There was new activity as well. There must have
been a hundred sweepers and gardeners at work, though suiting their slow action to the burning sun; among them, peacocks strutted and spread their tail feathers, monkeys and parakeets quarrelled and chased one another, mynah birds brooded among the flamboyant branches. To crown this scene, there was a guard of honour drawn up at the farther end of the courtyard, arrayed in the same scarlet Spahi uniform but wearing golden breastplates; and behind them, the huge façade of the Sun Palace now rose in all its majesty, shining pink and white and grey, like some fantastic curtain marking the limits of Paradise.
Their palankeens had been halted, and set down. Richard, about to alight, turned his amazed eyes from the view, and harked back to the last words of Amin Bulong.
‘You were talking of the need for bigger ships,’ he said, ‘to subdue these northern pirates. Is it this which the Rajah wishes to discuss with me?’
Amin Bulong, whose servants were preparing to assist him from the palankeen, looked up, and shook his head.
‘No, no,’ he answered. ‘Pirates are little more to us than the sharks they would feed. This is a more pressing matter … Be pleased to follow me.’
iv
When at last, towards sunset, a messenger from the Rajah entered his room and, bowing low, announced: ‘Tuan – the Rajah awaits you’, Richard Marriott was almost regretful at the summons. Earlier, when he had been expecting an immediate audience, he had been nettled by the delay; it had been Tuan this and Tuan that, but the honour of being greeted as ‘Lord’ in the Malay tongue did not compensate for the evasions and excuses of delay. He was not such a man as this, to be fobbed off with deference and double Dutch! … But presently he had grown resigned, and then content. Eastern potentates were given to such inconsequential treatment; time here was measured differently, or not measured at all. And when time could be passed in surroundings of such peaceful elegance, without cost to anything save a Western sense of duty, it lost its eroding character and became a blessing.
The White Rajah (1961) Page 10